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SELF-SUPPORTING 



SELF-SUPPORTING 



A DUOLOGUE 



By 

MARGARET YOUNG 



Copyright, 1914, hy Samuel French, Ltd. 



New York I London 

SAMUEL FRENCH SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd 

Publisher 1 26 Southampton Strkex 

-30 WEST 38TH STREET I STRAND 



JAfJ 17 1914 



TMP92-0076C3 

©C!,D 35697 



SELF-SUPPORTING 

CHARACTERS 
Mrs. Gordon. 
Kitty ..... Her niece. 



The Fee for each and every representation of this 
play by Amateurs is Ten ShiUings and Sixpence, 
payable in advance to — 

Messrs. SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD., 

26, Southampton Street, 
Strand, London, 

or their authorized representatives. 

No performance may be given unless a written 
permission has first been obtained. 

All the costumes, wigs, a.nd properties used in the 
performance of plays contained in French's list may 
be hired or purchased reasonably from Messrs. 
Charles H. Fox, Ltd., 27, Wellington Street, Strand, 
London. 



SELF-SUPPORTING 

Scene. — A small bare room. 
Time. — The present. 
The stage is empty. 

A k}iock at the door. Pause. Louder knock. Pause. 
Repeated ad. lib. Then the handle is tried. Then 

Mrs. Gordon opens door tentatively- — then looks in — 
then comes in. She is a good-looking, pleasant, 
well-dressed woman. She looks round her blankly. 
Then she catches sight of an overturned -work-basket 
on the table. Goes up quickly to examine it. Busi- 
ness of pricking her finger on needle stuck in table- 
cloth. Takes up book — laughs, puts it down. Takes 
a big stick from corner, examines it, puzzled and 
alarmed. As she puts it down, catches sight of an 
unopened letter stuck up conspicuously soniewhere. 
Goes quickly to it — reads address, business of great 
satisfaction. Pockets it. Turning, catches sight 
of handcuffs and chain hanging on wall. Start 
of horror. While she approaches them, slowly, 
lorgnette in hand, and finally verdures to touch and 

handle them : — 

7 



8 SELF-SUPPORTING. 

Door, IV hick- was left ajar, is pushed wide, and enter 
Kitty, a pretty young girl, in a pretty-coloured 
hut very cheap ready-made hloitse-suit, cheap hat, 
no gloves, no ornaments. She carries a roll of paper 
and a very small grocery parcel. 

She runs in, as if dismayed at door being ajar. Stops. 
Look's. Sees Mrs. Gordon's back: Start of de- 
light arid scream,. 

Kitty. Aunt Grace ! 

Mrs. Ck)RDON [turning). Kitty ! 

Kitty. Ok ! {Runs into her arms and clings to 
her, her face kid on her sho^ilder.) 

Mrs. Gordon [agitated). There, there, there [ 
Oh ! Kitty, Kitty ] The hunt weVe had for j^ou ! 
(Kitty as before all the ivhile Mrs. Gordon goes on 
petting and soothing her, and pouring out talk.) And 
even noi&, you jcnow, I wasn't sure we found you, at 
first. [Laughs shakily) The workhasket looked 
like you. 

Kitty [ivitkotU lifting her head). Like me .^ 

Mrs. Gordon. Standing on its head. 

Kitty (fiercely, still clinging to her). Aunt Grace! 

Mrs. Gordon. And the book. So deep ! Moments 
with Plato. Is it teaching 3/ou're making your living 
by, Kitty? 

Kitty [as before). Teaching! Oh! 

Mrs. GoKDOiN. But I couldn't be sure of you till 
\ saw that the k^tter was addressed to you.. 



SELF-SUPPORTING. 9 

Kitty (jumps au! ay from. her). Letter! Where! 

(N.B. — All foregoing must be played very qtiickly.) 

Mrs. Gordon. In my pocket. For the present. 

Kitty [imploringly). Oh! Aunt Grace, give it 
me ! Oh ! Aunt Grace, you don't mean it's from - 

Mrs. Gordon. Your Uncle Jim. 

Kitty. Uncle Jim ! (Disappointed. Then 
warmly.) Oh ! but I do want it, all the same. I 
want it very much. 

Mrs. Gordon. You shall have it. But we'll have 
our talk first. It's just like liim— to insist on sending 
a letter before I j came — and) risk spoihng everything. 
You're a pair of you, you and your Uncle Jim, for 
obstinacy. 

Kitty. Aunt Grace ! We're 7iot obs— — 

Mrs. Gordon (not stopping). Just a pair of you ! 
I always told him you ne\'er would have run away 
from home to be self-supporting, if he would only 
have encoiiraged the idea for two minutes and a 
half. 

Kitty. Aunt Grace, there's one thing Uncle Jim 
and I do agree on. We are not obstinate. 

Mrs. Gordon. What are 3^ou ? 

Kitty (considers, then with dignity). Firm. (Runs 
suddenly into her arms.) You darling, dear Aunt 
Grace, I am so glad you'vt- come." 

Mrs. Gordon. It's a sight for sore eyes seeing you 
again, Kitty. 



10 SELF-SUPPORTING. 

Kitty. x\nd you. [Then draws hack severely.) 
So long as you come alone. '^ 

Mrs. Gordon {cheerfully). CXiite' alone, as you see. 

Kitty [rather depressed). Yes. 1 sec. 

Mrs. Gordon. Quite alone. And ready to be 
turned out this minute if you choose, but not — not 
without a cup of tea. Even in an Industrial Dwell- 
ing people drink tea. I know it -I've read al)out it 
— in statistics. 

Kitty. Oh ! dear Aunt Grace ! It is unlucky ! 
I'll get some in one minute, but 

Mrs. Gordon [sternly). You have no tea in the 
house ? 

Kitty. Not to-day. But I lent some on Tues- 
day to the people overhead, and I'm sur(^ they'll 

Mrs. Gordon. Y^ou feather-brain ! You've got 
the tea all the time, I believe. That little white 
parcel you brought in. Why — oh ! what is it ? 
[drops it.) 

Kitty. Yes. German sausage. I was going to 
have some for my dinner— (i^^^s hurriedly) with 
other things, of course. 

Mrs. Gordon. Such as ? 

Kitty. Oh ! bread and — and ail that sort of thing. 
Would you [hesitatingly) take a little of it now ? 

Mrs. Gordon [nervously). Well, dear, it's most 
appetising ; but — to quench thirst — I hardly think 
— no — don't run away. The tea can wait. First 
you must tell me 



SELF-SUPPORTING. II 

Kitty. First of all (on the floor beside her), you 
must swear, solemnly swear, not to tell any one where 
I am. Any one ! Any one ! 

Mrs. Gordon. Meaning Harry, I suppose ? 

Kitty. I didn't for a moment suppose that 
Harry could wish to know the whereabouts of his 
most particular bete noire — a strong-minded woman. 

Mrs. Gordon. Of course not. He never thinks 
of any woman but you. 

Kitty {with a wild little laugh). Oh ! you cold 
crushing, sarcastic, horrible, dear old aunt ; you 

don't mean to say he still {Piclls up.) Well, it 

doesn't matter your telling anybody — for I'm leaving 
this place. 

Mrs. Gordon. I'll answer for that — I mean — 
why you are leaving, dear ? Is the attendance not 
good ? 

Kitty. Oh ! that's all right. That's mc. No, 
but they've such a stupid plan about the rent. You 
pay in advance. Just fancy ! Isn't it ridiculous ? 

Mrs. Gordon (observing her). Ah ! you don't 
like paying in advance ? 

Kitty. It's silly, I think. 

Mrs. Gordon (suddenly). Could you tell me the 
time ? 

Kitty (furiously embarrassed). Oli ! it is unlucky ! 
I haven't my watch — on. 

Mrs. Gordon. So I see. Didn't you take your 
dressing-bag with you when you went bread-winning ? 



n SELF-SUPPORTING. 

Kitty. The clear, lovely silver-fitted bag you 
gave me ? I should think so. 

Mrs. Gordon. I thought there was a clock in 
that ? 

Kitty. The sweetest little 

Mrs. Gordon. Then, perhaps, you could tell 
me the time by the dock. 

Kitty. Oh ! it is unlucky ! I haven't it — with 
me. 

Mrs. Gordon. I saw there were none of your 
pretty things about. I suppose there'reall — stored ? 

Kitty. Well, I don't know that you would call it 
— exactly — stored. Oh ! don't you think it's per- 
fectly horrid of you to go on talking about the time 
instead of using it — instead of telhng me all about 
everybody ? 

Mrs. Gordon. Everybody but Harr\'. 

Kitty. You've told me all about him. It's my 
dear old Uncle Jim I want to know about. How is 
he ? 

Mrs. Gordon. Dreadfuhy angry. 

Kitty (nodding). I don't sec; how even he could 
help that — by this time. 

Mrs. Gordon. He says you rejected his overtures 
at Christmas. 

Kitty. Overtures ? Insults, I call them. Do 
you know he got hold of my address — fortunately 
I'd just left — and he dared to 

Mrs. Gordon. Well ? 



SELF-SUPPORTING. jgi 

Kitty. To send me a case of portwine and bottled 
soups : when he knows how absolutely determined 
I am to earn my own bread ! 

Mrs. Gordon. Well, dear, bread. Not wine or 
soups. 

Kitty. I believe you knew about it. 

Mrs. Gordon. Why, of course, we were all de- 
lighted you were found. And, indeed, Harry went 
straight off 

Kitty (much moved). Oh ! did he ? Did he 
really ? 

Mrs. Gordon. But the landlady pretended to 
know^ nothing at all about you, and your dear uncle 
was so terribly put out at being made to look a fool 

Kitty. He couldn't look a fool, the darling. 

Mrs, Gordon {with attempted solemnity). That, 
I'm sorry to] say, my dear Kitty, the end of the 
whole thing is — he has — well, in fact, he has dis- 
inherited you. 

Kitty (with a gasp of delight). Disin 

Mrs. Gordon. — herited you, my dear. 

Kitty. Aunt Grace, you're joking ! (3h ! I 
can't believe it. Oh ! how perfectly sweet of him \ 
Disinherited me ! The dear ! Oh ! tell me, tell 
me — how did he do it ? After prayers — before all 
the servants — with his spectacles pushed back up 
on his sweet old crinkly forehead ? And his first 
words most ferocious — the voice that belongs to the 
very worst things — to — to reading Punch before 



14 SELF-SUPPORTING. 

the others have looked at the pictures — and the rest 
all trickling off into gentleness. 

Mrs. Gordon. Never mind how. He's done it 1 
He's left everything to- 

Kitty. Oh ! to Harry, of course. I knew he 
must leave everything to Harry if I could once bring 
him to the disinheriting point. How he could ever 
dare to ask a man like Harry to live on his wife ! 

Mrs. Gordon. His wife ? That's to say ? 

Kitty. Me, of course — I mean it was me — I mean 
it was going to have been me. Oh ! — you know what 
i mean. 

Mrs. Gordon. I hope you know, my poor child ; 
for your uncle has absolutely cut you off with a 
shilling. 

Kitty (rapturously siniling). A shilling, too. 
How pretty of him. I'll set it in diamonds, if I 
have to sell my — — [Her voice drops suddenly as she 
looks blankly at her hare hands and dress, and round 
the empty room.) Oh, well, he must live fifty years 
longer, that's all, and by that time I'll {faltering) 
perhaps — I'll have begun — to — make 

Mrs. Gordon. I'm afraid you've not, so far. made 
a great deal. 

Kitty {linth careful truthfulness). Not such a very 
great deal— not <\xactly })iade. You see (relapsing 
nto confidence) it was unlucky ! First I had the 
loveliest situation to teach two little boys — Harry 
said I was a daisy with boys. You remember — the 



SELF-SUPPORTING. 15 

lodge children on Sunday. Well — these two had 
the most comfortable parents you ever saw ; they 
didn't know anything and they thought I knew every- 
thing. It was the dressing-bag did it, I think. 

Mrs. Gordon. Then your old aunt got you that ? 

Kitty. Yes, but I did try. I bought all the best 
books. T had the money then- 

Mrs. Gordon. Yes. Before you • made your 
living. 

Kitty. And I worked so hard. I was never less 
than three lessons ahead of them ; (piteoiisly) I'm 
very conscientious. Aunt Grace, reall}^ 

Mrs. Gordon. I'm sure you are. 

Kitty {tragically). But Julius CcBsar upset 
everything ! You see they took a box, and the boys 
and me. And I thought it was going to be such fun. 
But — would you beheve it ? — from beginning to end 
— from thos(^ silly red men carrying about golf clubs 
down to the sort of sign-post the soldier sticks up to 
die under — they made the whole thing just one gigan- 
tic examination paper. Such questions ! Oh, such 
questions ! I got cold and hot and cold again with 
fright, and, sure enough, directly we got home they 
sent for me and said it was a woman of culture {sob) 
they wanted to train their sons, and so — well, really, 
that was unlucky, wasn't it ? 

Mrs. Gordon [indignantly). It was a piece of 
the most outrageous impertinence. Culture indeed ! 
When they had you ! 



16 SELF-SUPPORTING. 

Kitty [cheer j idly drying her eyes). " They had 
me, but they did not keep me'long." That's Shake- 
speare — anyhow, I learnt something on the stage. 

Mrs. Gordon. The stage ! You don't mean to 
tell me you tried that next ? 

Kitty. No. Quite next I was a lady guide. 
Because, you know, Harry always said that for 
knowing one's way about London he'd back me 

against And they gave me a post at once. It was 

that neat little travelling dress of Redfern's — the 
grey check — did it, I think. 

Mrs. Gordon. Then your old uncle got you that ? 

Kitty. Yes. But I did try. I bought that 
stick to start with. 

Mrs. Gordon. The shillelagh ! 

Kitty. And afield-glass — but I haven't the field- 
glass with me. / knew the sort of tilings for a guide. 
And the lirst three days I got on capitally. I had 
nothing but Americans, and they went to such places : 
oh ! such funny places — past the Savoy — past [St. 
Paul's ! Yes. But I didn't mind it— not one bit. 
I had such perfect confidence in them. They used 
to start suddenly with joy, and say : " Botley Street ! 
Are we actually in Botley Street ? Why, then, I 
guess the third turning on the left-hand side will 
take us along to the sign of the Hedgehog, the vurry 
identical tavern where the illustrious Beaumont and 
Fletcher are — erroneously — reported to have been 
stood drinks by Sir Francis Drake." And I always 



SELF-SUPPORTING!. 17 

said " Yes "—I had such perfect confidence in the M — 
and they were always right, and they wrote afterwards 
to the office to say that in their opinion their eminent 
countryman Henry James had strangely imderrated 
the intelligence of the average Englishwoman. 
That was nice, wasn't it — to be a credit to one's 
country ! 

Mrs. Gordon. Charming. Why dichi't you stick 
to it ? 

Kitty. I did try. But you see the next was an 
x\ustralian — a most successful farmeress. And her 
interest was — chemical manures. And J fainted 
and had to be taken home in a cab. So they said 
I was lacking in stamina. It was unlucky, wasn't it ? 

Mrs. Gordon. Brutal. And so you tried the 
stage ? 

Kitty. Yes. Because, you know, Harry always 

did say And I got an engagement straight off. 

It was that fascinating umbrella handle did it, 1 
think — the snake with the emerald eyes, you know. 

Mrs. Gordon. That Harry brought from Cash- 
mere. Then it was your cousin got you that. 

Kitty. Yes. But I did try. And When I had 
to give it up. Oh dear ! {Hides her face.) 

Mrs. Gordon. Tell me all about it, dear. Every- 
body knows how prettily you act. But tl>ere are a 
great many drawbacks, of course, so miieh jealousy 
in the company. 

Kitty. Oh ! it wasn't that. They didn't seem 

B 



18 SELF-SUPPORTIXC. 

to sec anything to be jealous about. The company 
were all just simply 'as sweet as the}/ could live. 
But they felt so dreadfully sorry about it. 

Mrs. Gordon. About what ? 

Kitty. My acting, you know. Being like 
nothing on a stick. 

Mrs. Gordon. Like what ? 

Kitty. Nothing — on a stick. That was just 
exactly what it was like, you know. ' And they couldn't 
make it out. They said any fool could act, so they 
were sure / should get it, in time. But it made them 
so sad. They would think of plans in the night, and 
come round in the morning to tell me. 

Mrs. Gordon. Wlio would think of ichat plans ? 

Kitty. Plans to make me act. Everybody, 
down to the baggage-man. I can't tell you what 
the baggage-man was to me. And at last they 
agreed all l wanted was my chance. 

Mrs. Gordon. And you couldn't get it, Just 
what I've always heard about the stage. Someone, 
no doubt, was working against you. 

Kitty. Oii ! Chances ! I had plenty of chances 
But none of tlie chances happened to suit rnc. It 
was unlucky, wasn't it ? Every chance I had, the 
others would get so frightfully excited, and w^ait about 
in the wings to send me on and take me off. And 
every chance I .had they grew sadder — -and more 
(^omforting. It was telling on them. It wasn't 
fair to the- management. The papers began to notice 



SELF-SUPPORTING. 19 

" a certain want of go " in the company. I knew 
z^'/ios^ go was wanted. But I'm so selfish; I should 

have stuck to it still, only the real trouble was 

{hesitates.) 

Mrs. Gordon. Don't be afraid to tell me any- 
thing. I saw {ircmuloiisly) what you iiave hanging 
up there. 

Kitty. My manacles ! Oli, those are ah right. 

Mrs. Gordon. ''All — right?" 

Kitty. Yes. My manacles (goc:; up 10 them) 
were for m}' big part ! (puts a hand o;i them tendcdy) 
" The Dumb Captive ! " — I made a hit in tliat. 

Mrs. Gordon (turning to look at her). Did you 
really ? 

Kitty. Rather ! [Draicing herself up.) I was 
carried on. (She becomes rigid.) Silent/ Veiled! 
(Very impressively. A pause of emotion. Then she 
comes cheerfully back to her aunt.) I can tell you that 
did go ! (Sits on the floor again.) 

Mrs. Gordon. It did go .^ (Hesitates, then.) In 
that case — w^hy — why did you ? 

Kitty (confidential again). Well, you see, the. 
part didn't command a big salary. It w^as a fine 
performance, the manager said, but the dummy was 
easier to carry. Of course I saw his point of view, 
but (stops) the thing was — —(Stops.) 

Mrs. Gordon. I can (juite understand {indignantly). 
The whole life wore on your delicate nerves. The 
strain of it. The excitement of it — the 



20 SELF-SUPPORTING 

Kitty (Umts iriipycssivdy, putting a hand on hers). 
The cm fully good appetite of it, Aunt Grace ! 

Mrs. Gordon (gasps). Good what? 

Kitty (nods) . Good appetite. That's it. The stage 
does give you the most appallingly good appetite. 

Mrs. Gordon. But, I don't understand. If that 
was all 

Kitty, /ill! You wait till you've tried ! (Then 
rapidly.) A good appetite for breakfast and a good 
appetite for dinner and a good appetite for tea and a 
good appetite for supper, and a fairly good appetite 
for in-betweens. (Takes breath.) And no more 
salary than you can expect for being Hke nothing-on-a- 
stick — that is, generally, I mean, not counting the 
Dumb cap-tivc, of course. (Takes breath.) A.nd 
always something or other new that 3'ou must buy 
for your parts — pigtails for Queens 

Mrs. Gordon. Pigtails ! 

Kitty. Queens in Legitimate have pigtails, 
always — and topboots for boys. 

Mrs. Gordon. Boys ! Kitty ! 

Kitty. And it's all very well for you to say : 
"Is that all'^ " Aunt Grace — but nil / can say is, I 
kept getting smaller and smaller. And my appetite 
kept getting bigger and bigger, till at last I caught 
cold and- -well — that was the time I sold my watch. 
{Looks down nervously.) Not exactly sold 

Mrs. Gordon. Kitty ! What do you mean ? 

Kitty. Oh ! I never went there myself, really. 



SELF-SUPPORTING. 21 

The baggage-man did it all. He was lodging next 
door at Great Pelt on, and he sent round some wine 
because he said — well, he said it was because he 
couldn't stand the noise my coughing made. Well, I 
know it was horridly conventional of me — but I 
couldn't take it — somehow. And as soon as he saw I 
meant it, he^told me — what to do about my watch. 
And after that he managed — all those things for me, 
so nicely. And brought me all the ti — the tickets — 
receipts. But, when it came to eating my frocks, I 
felt I really must find some cheaper way of making 
my Uving — and yesterday [her voice breaks) I thought 
I'd found it. 

Mrs. Gordon. What was that ? 

Kitty. Sick-nursing. Oh ! I had set my heart 
on it. Yes, Aunt Grace, careers are all very well, 
but if ^ you knew how dreadfully — dreadfully — I long 
— long — long — for this sort of thing {sobbing and 
hugging Mrs. Gordon's knees). 

Mrs. Gordon. But, Kitty, they don't do that 
in hospitals. 

Kitty. Oh ! you know what I mean. To make 
somebody — just a httle glad of you. And now— 
to-day — they're afraid I won't do — not strong enough 
— something about my heart. And (distractedly) 
there's only one thing more I can think of — to be an 
author. I just ran out to get some ruled paper for 
that ; but if that fails— I really don't know— what— 
T shall — do. 



22 SELF-SUPPORTING 

Mrs. Gordon. I'll tell you, dear. If it's sick- 
nursing you want. You haven't heard yet. Don't 
be frightened — but your uncle has been very, very ill. 

Kitty. Uncle Jim ! And I sat here talking non- 
sense. Oh ! my dear, dear Uncle Jim {pulling on her 
hat). What is it ? 

Mrs. Gordon. A neglected cold. He's better. 
But he wants you dreadfully. 

Kitty. Wants me ! And you never told me ! 

Mrs. Gordon. I wasn't sure you'd come. 

Kitty. Come ! To my own darling uncle ! 
And when he's behaved so beautifully about the — 
shilling — and all that. I'll nurse him till I die — 
heart or no heart. 

Mrs. Gordon. Oh! we'll soon set the heart right, 
T hope, with proper advice. 

(Knock.) 

[Quicldy) Pack up your trunk — if it isn't — ahem ! 
stored — and I'll be back for you in an hour. 
Kitty. Oh ! must you go ? 

(Knock.) 

Who can that be ? 

Mrs. Gordon. The heart specialist, I expect — 
(whispers) Harry. 

Kitty. Harry ! Oh, I oughtn't to keep you, if 
you really have to go (hurriedly getting her her 
gloves and parasol). 



SELF-SUPPORTING. 23 

Mrs. Gordon {laughing). It looks as if I had to. 

Kitty. Then, good-bye, dear Aunt Grace — and 
don't be a minute more than — than just the hour — 
and a half 

(Exit Mrs. Gordon, laughing.) 

Harry ! (Ecstatically.) Harry ! (Drawing herself up 
with dignity.) 

Mrs. Gordon (outside). ' Yes, she's expecting you. 

Kitty (with a cry of joy). Harry ! 

(Runs out to meet him.) 
Curtain. 



Printed by Butler & Tanner, Frome and London. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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